THERE IS MUCH to admire about Glasgow's the Delgados. Most importantly, it is a gray, cold day here in England: rain splatters the windows; my central heating is by no means able to cope with the latest turbulent side-effects of global warming; I am lonely and feel friendless. All I have for succor is the latest single from the Delgados, "No Danger." I turn up the heating another notch, pull my fleecy top around my neck, and listen. Suddenly, the world seems a brighter, if just as melancholy, place. This single is incredible. Don't know how, but the gently passionate Scots quartet have just discovered harmonies as lush and seductive as even Belle & Sebastian, and matched them to a ra-ra skirt pop sensibility and even (gasp) a fully fledged children's choir. Maybe this is the Flaming Lips influence everyone is talking about. I'm a sucker for a children's choir, me. There's nothing poignant that can't be made 100 times more so by adding a gaggle of plaintive, straining voices into the background.

The second half of "No Danger" reminds me of "Seasons in the Sun," and I don't mean that as a pejorative. Only a Scots band (influenced in equal parts by naive pop band the Pastels, strange psychedelia, and a sense of isolation) could produce music this childlike yet warped. The vocal interplay between the Delgados' two singers Emma Pollock and Alun Woodward has long been remarked upon, and rightly so. There are few sounds more heartening than a full-throttle inter-sex duet--ask Nancy and Lee, or S Club 7. Except there's nothing full-on about Pollock's floating, breathy vocals or the squalling, lulling guitars. Only a British band can sound this doleful and simultaneously uplifting.

"No Danger" is just one among many equally great songs on the Delgados' most recent album, the Mercury Music Award-nominated The Great Eastern (named after a Glasgow flophouse). This is a record that retains the love for experimentation which lies at the band's core, while almost overwhelming the ears with its deadpan-cool harmonies. Hmm, guess that Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev comparison really is valid. Neither American band has ever sounded as British, however, as to sing lines like, "I became accustomed to a kind of social servitude and no one, I mean no one, could accept what I had become. Selfish, bitter, weak, enough to make you sick" (from the sumptuous, orchestral "American Trilogy"). I said there's much to admire about this band. I meant it.

Until recently, the Delgados were the least-celebrated act on the label they founded, Chemikal Underground--the shattering dynamics of post-My Bloody Valentine insurrectionists Mogwai, as well as Magoo, cheeky pop-disco post-riot grrrls Bis, and the dry, biting witticisms of Arab Strap all attracted more media attention. This, despite the sublime single "Under Canvas, Under Wraps" reaching Number 3 in renowned British DJ John Peel's Festive 50 in 1996, leading to a supporting slot with Elastica. More reasons to believe.

Chemikal Underground, now there's a fine label. Fiercely independent, with a whole city-load of attitude. For example, inspired by vegan philosophy, the Delgados refuse to drink a well-known Scots lager because fish glands are used in the brewing purpose. Ah, who cares about that hippie crap, though? The Underground have the Strap, the 'Wai, and the 'Dos, and that's three more awesome bands than anyone this side of K.

It's not like the Delgados' previous records were crap, either, even if the four members have stepped up a gear or 500 this year. Their flute-softened second album, Peloton, was hailed by many as the finest U.K. album of 1998. It was written at the end of a traumatic time. In November of 1997, just as the quartet were ready to begin work on it, the girlfriend of guitarist Woodward gave birth to a baby boy, 10 weeks premature. The baby hovered on the brink of death throughout the recording, and the sense of strain and shy sense of wonder at survival shines through the record. It's a sobering, inspirational pop concoction, tempered with strings, piano, and Emma Pollock's lighter-than-air vocals--and, of course, the guitars' rich layers of sonic saturation. Their previous album, Domestiques, is rather fine, too.

I said there's much to admire about this band. I haven't even touched upon their live shows yet. Look, I saw the Smiths at their sixth ever show (third on the bill to Sisters of Mercy at London ULU) and they were okay. I liked the way young Mozzer tossed the audience the gladiolas from his bum pocket--it showed an admirable grasp of occasion. It wasn't anything too special, don't worry. You didn't miss much. You miss the Delgados, though, and friends will be rubbing your faces in it for years to come. Music this passionate is always unusual.